Let them thrive!

These days, I can often be found obsessing over my plants. "OMG, that coriander is not thriving at all. I needs a bit more watering and a lot more root space!" or "that lily needs some time indoors, the crap British weather is not doing it any good", "those roses need some serious re-potting". I do what's got to be done for each plant, then I walk past the basil and the parsley which are both doing great and it gives me an odd sense of peace.

The weirdest thing is that I'm not too phony around it. I haven't turned into an obsessive old girl who cares only for her rose trees. And the most bizarre thing is that there is no resentment at being tied down by these annoying plants that won't thrive. If one of them isn't doing great, I've got that huge drive "Let it thrive! Let it thrive! Let it thrive!"

That funny irrepressible drive then extends to people. In much the same way as I worry for that dying coriander, I worry for the people around me who are not thriving. "OMG, my boyfriend seems full of tears and I don't know why", "our friend is terrified by his undergraduate exams". And I want them to thrive, much like the coriander.

So I care for them, I listen a bit awkwardly (as in, not that horrible "active listening", but in a way that acknowledges that they feel vulnerable sharing), I care for their thriving. It's not deliberate, it's pretty automatic, like running my hands through the coriander, I run my hands through their hair, try to make out what the issue is. Most of the time I'll never know what the issue was, but my caring will have gone a long way towards solving it.

Okay, so now I've evolved from the old girl who only cares about her rose trees to the annoying woman-type who only cares for her immediate family and kids. My aunt is a bit like that, she would give her life 50 times for her kids, and she doesn't give a monkey's for the rest of the world.

If my immediate friends and family don't thrive, I feel like sitting with them, loving them. But if someone I don't know doesn't thrive, hell, that's bound to be hard work, I don't want to step into this, I'm sure I'll fuck up. There's always this anxiety: I won't be good, I've got no training, there's real behaviourial issues there, I haven't got a role model, I can't cope with so much need. Now it looks like I might do some volunteering at the prison's visitor centre, or as a youth worker in one of the neighbouring villages around here, and I'm scared that I'll be dysfunctional, judgemental, too middle-classy and basically useless.

The glimmer of hope here, is that there was a time in which I thought that I wasn't very good even caring for my family and friends. Now they're just like the coriander: I love keeping an eye on them -in passing, I love being with them no matter what's going on in their lives. And they make sure that I thrive, keeping an eye out for my welfare.

I know that it won't stop there. I know that the urge to "let them thrive" will keep extending to new folks. It's either that or it becomes stale. The urge to "let them thrive" calls you even further into intimacy with all and sundry. If you only care for your coriander, you are holding back the love. Likewise, if you only care for your immediate family and friends you are also holding back the love. You will have to go further or die.

I watched some excerpts of Kill Bill II on Friday. From what I gathered, they spend the length of the movie torturing each other. I didn't watch for very long but it unsettled me: you degenerate morons, the only attitude towards another human being is to love them and wish them to thrive, like you would do, you know, if your coriander was dying. And a human being, no matter how wicked or 'difficult' is worth more than a lot of pots of coriander.